


Resident Mockery

by Lertsek



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, NCT Ensemble - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, WayV Ensemble - Freeform, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-12-21 09:24:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lertsek/pseuds/Lertsek
Summary: There is a house on 7th street and in it live four witches.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Jim Morrison's poem: Hour for Magic

There is a house on 7th street. It is neither big nor small. None of the windows are broken and the lawn is neatly mowed—courtesy of Doyoung. 

The blinds are only drawn in the evenings and the roof is in a solid state. The chimney, well, never mind that. 

There is no knocker on the front door, it has a normal knob that from time to time might be a bit hard to turn. Don’t let anything fool you, that’s just from old age. The door swelling in the summer heat and shrinking in winter. 

There is a house with windows that slam closed when the wind blows too strong, like with all the houses on 7th street. A house where flowers bloom in the front yard and are snowed in in the winter. A house that does not stand out. 

It moves and resettles even in daylight. It separates, shifts, and refolds itself at night. The stairs move throughout the day, creaking as they go. 

Sometimes they lead to the right rooms, other times they do not. 

You could argue that the inside is the same as the outside, normal. And you wouldn’t be wrong, it’s just a different kind of normal. 

To outsiders, the inside of the house on 7th street is no different than the insides of their own homes. They see a living room with a wooden floor, plants on the windowsills. When the elderly woman from across the street peers through her binoculars into the house's bedroom windows, there is nothing that will make her jump up out of her chair in shock. It’s quite the opposite, she moves on quickly from the house in front of her that bores her to death at it’s ordinariness, and instead focuses on the house to it’s right, where the husband has invited another woman in that is decidedly not his wife. Maybe someday soon, she’ll tell the wife what a piece of shit her husband is. 

To outsiders, the carefully crafted spell placed over the house resembles their definition of normal. Johnny spent one week perfecting it, making the surface of it solid and unrippable. It doesn’t shake when you touch it, doesn’t let your hand pass through. It’s a wall, a layer of protection, keeping what’s inside safe from prying eyes.

The house has rooms which themselves spin. Sometimes you enter and step into what you perceive to be the front of the room. Other times you enter through the back, or sideways, when the house is having a bad day. But really, the concept of space has been thrown out of the window long ago.

Time used to not exist either. When they first moved in, the clocks didn't tick and even the newest iPhone Johnny carried couldn't break past the seemingly magnetic field that had settled itself over the residence.

Sicheng fixed it, found the mouse which had died in the electricity cabinet down in the cellar. He’d asked the house to turn the lights back on. It refused at first, but let up when Sicheng asked a second time. Now it even supplies them with faster internet whenever Sicheng asks for it, wanting to impress him. Much to Doyoung’s dismal, who even after four years doesn’t want to believe the fact that the house favors Sicheng instead of him, the one who inherited it in the first place. 

The blinds being open during daytime has less to do with trying to fit in with the common, and more to do with laziness. It used to be to get a sense of time passing, now it’s just an old habit. The mouse is buried in the backyard, two little sticks in the form of a cross sticking into the earth above it. 

The house may have some oddities, some slightly bigger than others. The screaming mirror that has Doyoung’s great grandmother’s soul in it, for example, does not quite weigh up against the knife throwing contest that Johnny and the kitchen have every other weekend. The darts got lost one day and instead of having to search for them, the house came up with a different solution.

Nevertheless, the saying goes that the inhabitants are what make a house a home. And one of the inhabitants is about to make the house incredibly angry. 

_“Your ballroom days are over, baby_  
_Night is drawing near_  
_Shadows of the evening_  
_Crawl across the years”_

Resident Mockery

“Ten,” Sicheng calls from the living room. It’s eleven o’clock and he’s come out of his room to watch the late night news. “Ten,” he calls again, this time louder. “There’s been another one.” 

The woman on the tv goes on to explain about the claw marks on the chest, the ripped out throat, the bloodloss. Just as she starts up the speculations of wolves having entered the city, Ten appears at Sicheng’s side. 

“Are they still saying dracula has returned?” 

Despite the circumstances, Sicheng snorts. Some youtube videos have already sprung up about the killings, it’s mostly people who entertain their viewers by telling creepy stories in a monotone low voice that are claiming vampires have risen and are back draining humans dry. 

The house calls those people fools, everyone knows vampires don’t exist apart from the badly done Dracul copies that appear on tv. 

Reddit has also taken the liberty of coming up with its own extravagant conspiracy theories. The last time they checked there were over twenty separate threads on the killings alone. It’s amazing what people make up when they don’t have an explanation for something. Johnny had found the funniest one—someone going on and on about how mutated dogs had escaped from the labs hidden under the city sewers and are now killing humanity to form their own mutated dog empire—and read it to them over dinner. Sicheng snorted out his drink at one point from laughing too hard.

Not even a minute after Ten posed the question does a drawing of a vampire appear on screen, baring its fangs wide, complete with cape and all.

“Dear God,” Ten says. 

“The world really is turning to shit,” Sicheng finishes. 

“Maybe it was the centaurs?” Johnny asks, coming in and settling himself on the couch to join Ten and Sicheng for their daily dose of human stupidity. 

“They wouldn’t even want to be found dead within a 100 mile radius of a city,” Ten says. “So definitely not the centaurs.” 

Sicheng plops down on the couch next to Johnny. “Maybe it really is vampires then.” 

“Go and start your own fucking reddit thread.” 

“You know what, Ten, maybe I will.” Sicheng smirks. “Maybe I’ll tell them they have to look for a certain Chittapon.” 

“I have a picture of Ten that we can use for the wanted shots,” Doyoung supplies, crossing over from the kitchen into the living room. There are dark patches on his denim jeans, ones that probably won’t come out. His hands, too, are covered in dirt. 

Johnny sits up just a bit straighter. “Doyoung, what did you do?” 

A moment later the tv starts to stutter, the images of the newsreader dubbeling and then trippeling before it goes to static. The tv turns off with a click. 

Sicheng tries the remote but there is no indication that even that works, no little lamp lighting up when Sicheng presses a button. 

Johnny tries his own luck by giving a kick to the tellie. 

“Doyoung,” he repeats, “what did you do to my cable tv?” 

“You mean _my_ cable tv?” Doyoung responds. 

“I pay the same amount of rent as you.” 

“You pay the same amount of rent for the house that I inherited, yes. The house that, per definition, is under my name,” Doyoung says. 

It’s a well worn argument, one that neither side ever wins. Not Johnny, even though he has solid arguments, and neither Doyoung, even though he’s as stubborn as they come. 

Ten interrupts with “Doyoung.” before Johnny can start to send things flying like last time. 

Doyoung halts in the middle of his sentence and turns to Ten. 

Sicheng pops back into the living room. “My computer isn’t working either. Wait, let me rephrase that, not a single computer is working.” 

Ten grabs Doyoung’s arm to look at his wristwatch. The little arm that counts the seconds is stuck on the number three. 

“Doyoung, don’t tell me this means what I think it does,” Ten says. Behind him, he can hear Johnny give another kick to the television. 

The lights cut out as Johnny delivers his third kick. Ten’s grip on Doyoung’s arm tightens. 

“Doyoung,” Sicheng starts, cautiously peering out the window into the backyard. “Why is there a hole in the ground?” 

Johnny stomps over next to him, pressing his nose to the glass and looking in the same direction as Sicheng. Even at night, he doesn’t have to strain his eyes much, the hole not even attempted to be covered up. 

“And why is the cross we put above Steve’s grave not in the ground anymore?” Johnny asks. 

“I might have dug up the rat,” Doyoung says, like he didn’t just do the single most thing Ten had forbidden him from ever doing. 

“It’s a mouse,” Sicheng says at the same time that Ten’s grip tightens even harder. 

“You dug up Steve.” The anger is dripping out of Ten’s mouth. 

Doyoung is peering at his nails, judging the damage of the dirt beneath them. “I did.” 

“And what did you do with the mouse that provides our electricity.” 

Johnny’s, _well technically it’s not the mouse,_ is overruled by Doyoung saying he threw Steve over the fence into the neighbor’s garden. 

“Have you lost your damn mind,” Ten bites out. 

Doyoung’s eyes widen. He looks behind him as if to ask for help. In return, he gets a Sicheng that looks even angrier than Ten. He quickly turns back around. “I think I’m the only one in this house that has any brain cells left.” 

“You took the mouse that provides our electricity,” Ten says. 

“Technically it’s not the mo—” 

Ten holds up his hand and Johnny’s mouth snaps shut. 

“You took the mouse that provides our electricity,” Ten repeats. “And you threw it over the garden fence.” 

Doyoung gives one curt nod. “I did.” 

One of the lightbulbs in the chandelier bursts, the shards of crystal glass stay floating in the air. 

“I didn’t want it on my property anymore,” Doyoung says.

“Our propriety,” Johnny corrects. 

Ten’s grip tightens so hard it’s cutting off the blood circulation to Doyoung’s hand. 

“Let me get this straight. You purposely cut off the house’s electricity—the house from which we run the biggest online magic supply store on this side of the country—because you couldn’t stand the thought of having a dead mouse buried in the backyard.” 

Ten can see Doyoung’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

The couch creaks under Johnny’s weight, who’s smartly getting out of the line of fire. 

“I’ll be upstairs calculating the losses,” Sicheng says before opening the door on the right side of the fridge and darting up the stairs. 

Doyoung opens his mouth, Ten raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay, look, it might not have been smart, but it was necessary.” 

Another lightbulb bursts, this time the shards do fall down onto the carpet. 

“There really isn’t any need to get dramatic about it. And besides, the old rat was starting to smell and you know how sensitive my nose is.” 

Johnny jumps out of harm's way as the entire chandelier comes crashing down, leaving a gaping hole in the ceiling. 

It’s a normal day in the house on 7th street. 

* * *

Ten and his three housemates run the biggest hub for magic supplies on the east coast. It’s a legal store, bordering sometimes on grey, but never straying too far as to not get into more than a maximum of three lawsuits a year. 

Lawsuits which, up till now, they’ve always won. If only for the reason that the public wouldn’t know where else to get their Christmas presents. What can be said, witches are a festive folk. 

The house supplies the internet Sicheng needs to keep the store up and running. It might be Ten’s store—having been appointed the shadow leader the second the four of them moved in together—but really it’s ownership is divided between all of them. 

Johnny spends his mornings at real estate houses of which the owners have died, his middays at auctions and his evenings on the couch watching channel four. Sometimes channel seven, when they’re having their Month of Malicious Action Movies. 

Doyoung stays in, spends his days bent over ordinary household items, trying to get them to do something. Putting spell after spell into them until they bend under his tingling hands. Just last week, he got the stairs that bring you from the second floor immediately to the fifth floor of the house to sing out one line from Stairway To Heaven as you step on them. He’s now perfecting them, trying to get them to adapt to voices so other owners can have their own stairs rotate through the Top 40 with a couple of quick words. 

The one who keeps track of all the data is Sicheng. He’s the brick on which the entire store is built. And Ten will say it until the end of time, without Sicheng, they wouldn’t be eating a warm meal every evening. 

Sicheng says the same about him, says that without Ten at least one of them would be in jail, another would have ended up dead because of their own stupidity and recklessness, with the third one working a job they’d hate until they eventually died as well. 

Sicheng hosts the biddings they do themselves from time to time, has also set up a system for buyers to book appointments to come and look at more expensive items before actually purchasing them. The house is good for that, provides an untraceable room whenever they have a buyer over. A room that changes every time and doesn’t give away their location. Seventh street is nice, they’d like to stay for a while more. Preferably also undetected. 

Together, Sicheng and Ten have set up an encrypted line of connection to the web. Sicheng is there for the untraceability of it, having wiped them completely off the map. To outsiders, they are a normal house on a street lined with other ordinary houses. To insiders, they don’t even exist at all. 

Specializing in curses, Ten has set up the wards around the line to the web. Whenever someone tries to look where they shouldn’t, their hands get burned. He’s here for the trading in darker material, the rarer items. He’s the one that toes the edge between legal and illegal. But keeping it entirely the former when it comes to the store. 

Not to say that the other three in the house don’t know their fair share of dark magic, they live under the same roof as Ten after all, it was bound to happen that Sicheng would one day ask for a curse that did more than just give an itch. 

They were never his apprentices, he never bought them to train them, never bought them in the first place. But he taught them most of what they know, curse wise. Also encouraged it when Doyoung said he wanted to learn healing spells, made sure there were seven books he could start to learn from the very next day. 

It’s an intricate system, the house, but also the four of them that live in it. 

Doyoung likes the grass green and is allowed to go wild in the backyard with new seeds Ten keeps supplying him with bought off the black market. Doyoung, however, also has to settle for one dirt spot in the garden where nothing will ever grow. 

It’s a lot of giving and taking. And being patient, not just with one another, but also with the house. After fours years, you still can’t get mad when the stairs that are supposed to take you to one of the many storage rooms very deliberately lead you to your bedroom. And lock you there. Until morning. Because the house thinks that you running on less than half an hour of sleep isn’t healthy. 

In the end they make it work, and when they talk about the house, it’s not just the property that they live in, but also its inhabitants. The four of them. 

The loss they’ll make from Doyoung’s little stunt isn’t a particularly large sum. Doyoung is lucky they weren’t running an auction the second he became a grave robber. Ten is sure to tell him so. 

Still, no matter how many times Sicheng asks, the house won’t reboot the internet that evening. Not even after Doyoung throws the carcass back into the hole in the ground and half heartedly sprinkles some dirt over it. In the end, Ten had made him climb over the fence and get the dead mouse back himself. 

The house thinks that a night off will do all of them some good. Ten doesn’t even want to argue, not when Johnny is bringing out the bottle of whiskey normally stored in the back of one of the kitchen cabinets. Not when Doyoung settles in next to him, hands still covered with mud wrapped around a glass filled with his own poison. Not when Ten taps his thumb twice on one of Doyoung’s knuckles and lets the dirt disappear. Not when Doyoung falls asleep next to him, mouth wide open and snoring, and Sicheng as his counterpart on the other side of Ten, breathing evening out but quiet as the dead. 

Johnny leans forward to refill Ten’s glass, carefully taking off Sicheng’s glasses and putting them on the salon table, placing his feet besides them as he falls back into the couch. 

Ten whispers a spell into Doyoung’s ear, turns his head and slightly cranes his neck to reach Sicheng’s, whose head has fallen onto Ten’s shoulder. 

He whispers to them words that feel like beeswax and sewn shut holes in denim pants. He stuffs their auditory canals with sounds of nothingness so he and Johnny can talk at a normal volume without risking to wake them up. 

“Do you want to come with me tomorrow?” Ten asks. 

Johnny’s sure is instant and filled with badly hidden excitement.

Ten’s been taking him to underground auctions more and more. Really, he should hold Johnny back a bit, make sure he doesn’t get himself entangled into something he can’t cut himself loose from. 

But how can he when he sees Johnny come to life before him whenever they enter an auction held in an old townhouse. An auction where they don’t use little plastic signs to announce a number, but instead yell out digits that neither of them ever knew they would throw out themselves. Not even in their wildest dreams. 

Johnny has an edge to him that Ten knows all too well. A taste for danger that awakens whenever they enter the old church that has scrolls hanging from the walls. The spells on them getting more illegal the further into the store you walk. 

The difference between the two of them is that Johnny likes it for the collection. Often jokes that collecting anything magic is just a replacement for the old baseball cards he used to keep in his binder as a child. _Double sleeved, of course,_ he likes to add. 

Ten doesn’t do it for the collection. Well, that’s not entirely true. His collection is just not a physical one. Ten does it for the knowledge. The fact that dark magic comes to him more easily is just a nice little benefit. One he knows to seek out well. 

So he takes Johnny with him. Not always, not when he goes to the little shop on second street, run by two kids just a few years younger than Sicheng. He doesn’t take Johnny with him to the council, or the meetings in the broken down fire station. But for the rest Johnny is at his side more often than not. 

There is just one promise Ten makes him keep. To not tell his boyfriend about the things he sees, the people he meets. Not a single word about the old seaman with the eyepatch and the wooden leg, both done by the captain himself. Not a word about the snake they picked up last month, with eyes that can turn human and witch alike to stone. It’s kept in a box in the attic until Ten finds a suitable buyer who passes Sicheng’s background check. 

Johnny might have kept his lips sealed shut to his boyfriend, but Ten knows Jaehyun suspects, knows the boy isn’t stupid. His eyes are too bright to have a weak mind. 

* * *

Jaehyun is a diamond found in the rough sweaty clubs of a city otherwise presumed to be well-off. Presumed because if you look closer it isn’t. You just have to know where to look to see that the opera houses and fine art exhibitions aren’t the core. But then again, knowing witches are at the core of it all would never be something that would occur to the non-magic mind. 

The witches of the city still perceive themselves as human. The witches all across the world do. They wear the same skin and live their lives along the same calendar dates as others. They might eat the same bread, drink the same milk, or they might not. Which is unlikely, seeing as the sources of bread and milk don’t differ even if magic is involved. 

Witches see themselves as human, because they know of those who are not. Centaurs are not even the limit. In this case, they are only the beginning. Half human and half horse. Aside from them, the creatures in this world don’t come close to looking like your next door neighbour. 

A next door neighbour who, right now, is blasting his Nickelback album so loud probably the entire street can hear. 

“Can someone please throw up the silencing spells.” 

“Do it yourself.” 

They’re sitting at the kitchen table, Sicheng with his laptop open and Doyoung with his nose in a book about the workings of blood transfusions. 

Ten is in the basement and Johnny in the right wing of the attic, both checking if the house has put the metal field back up because the electricity hasn’t come back on. 

They’ve been offline for three days and Ten is starting to worry. You can see it by the way he walks. He always becomes a pacer when something isn’t going his way and he has to try to figure out a solution. 

The three others know it’s business this time because Ten even rescheduled the normal pick up with Jaehyun. The pick up which isn’t supposed to happen for another three days. Which means Ten thinks something is definitely off. And he wouldn’t be wrong. Something is definitely off, all of them can feel it. 

Sicheng has been staring at the dark screen of his computer for the better part of twenty minutes. Trying very hard to push the thought of a switch turning on into the thing. It won’t budge. And neither will the house to his complaints. Usually it wants to impress him, now it feels like it’s almost punishing him. Doyoung is delighted by it. 

What he isn’t delighted by is the wannabe rock still coming from the house next door. 

“Please, Sicheng.” 

Sicheng’s first instinct is to tell him to go fuck himself, but the sincerity in Doyoung’s voice makes him reconsider. The noise isn’t helping his computer start up in the slightest. 

He stretches his right arm out to the side and gives a small flick of his wrist. Loose and almost careless. The sounds from outside vanish in less than a second. 

“Thank you.” 

Sicheng gives him a small smile to which Doyoung responds with one of his own. They’re rare, and the house knows to treasure them when they are given out. 

Doyoung lays his book face down on the table, the cover is mostly red, pairing with the contents inside. He reaches over the table and slides Sicheng’s laptop towards himself as Ten comes clambering down the stairs. 

“It’s off its fucking rockers.” Are the words he enters the kitchen with. He comes out of the door on the right side of the fridge, which is weird even for them. The right door leads up and the left one down. The house is mostly consistent in this. Apparently until it isn’t. 

Doyoung shrugs as he puts both of his hands on the top of Sicheng’s laptop. “I didn’t know it would take me throwing the mouse over the fence this personally.” 

Sicheng wants to make a remark, thinks of how Doyoung has both of his hands on his baby and decides to stay quiet. “I don’t think it’s just the mouse,” he says instead. 

Ten has started up his pacing again, going from one end of the kitchen to the other. “Me neither, there’s something else.” 

“Is it protecting us?” Doyoung asks. “Trying to keep other people out of our networks?” His hands warm with a purple tint, the color doesn’t transfer over to the computer. 

Ten places one of his hands on Doyoung’s, amplifying the magic. The purple glow doubles in volume. “Or maybe trying to keep us in,” he says. 

Sicheng looks around the kitchen, letting his eyes fall onto the corners of the space. “Maybe it’s trying to do both.” 

“My grandmother says my job is a disgrace either way, with or without the public acknowledgment.” 

Ten places his other hand on Doyoung’s shoulder. “She doesn’t even know half of what you can do.” 

“That may be, but in her eyes being a magical inventor is not much more than owning a joke shop.” 

The purple doesn’t catch, Doyoung pulls his hands away, Ten lets his own slide off as well but keeps the one on Doyoung’s shoulder. 

“Maybe you should take her mirror and walk it down the flight of stairs from the fifth to the second floor,” Sicheng says. “I’m sure even she can appreciate some Led Zeppelin.”  
It gets an actual laugh out of Doyoung, Ten shoots Sicheng an appreciative look. 

Footsteps bang overhead. Slightly less recognizable than normal because they are running. But still, it’s evident that Johnny is the one running down the stairs. He also comes into the kitchen through the door on the right side of the fridge. Maybe the house isn’t angry at them then, Ten thinks, maybe it’s just rearranging itself and that’s why it led him around. Johnny confirms it in the next sentence. 

“The house is shifting.” 

“It tends to do that,” Doyoung responds in a drawl. 

The house separates and throws one half of itself to the right, like it wants to take a closer look. There is a gaping hole in the middle, the four of them can look out onto the street like this, see the parked cars. To the outside, it would still look as if the house is in one piece. 

“Yeah, does it tend to do that too?” Johnny shoots back as the house stitches itself back together around them. 

Doyoung crosses his arms and turns his nose up. “Splitting itself in half is not unheard of.” 

It isn’t unheard of. The fact is just that it’s rare. But before Ten can voice that thought, the house throws itself to the left and this time they can feel it, because it takes them with it. The interior stays upright, but both Doyoung and Sicheng topple out of their chairs that seem to be stuck to the floor, Johnny barely stays upright himself with Ten clamping onto the kitchen sink just in time before he is thrown headfirst into the drawers where they keep the silverware. 

A second later their home is upright again. 

“What the fuck,” Johnny spits out. 

Ten rights himself and looks out the windows. “It’s searching for something.” 

Sicheng drags himself up with the help of the kitchen table, rubbing his head as he goes. “Well the next time it wants to play hide and seek a warning would be nice.” 

“Is it looking for someone or something?” Doyoung asks, straightening out himself. 

“Someone I think,” Ten answers, still scanning the garden. 

Johnny’s head snaps to the front door. 

“What is it,” Sicheng asks him. “See something?” 

Johnny’s brows furrow. “Someone’s trying to force their way through my barrier.” 

“Why would they do that?” 

Doyoung cuts in before Johnny can answer. “They’re trying to teleport their way into the house.” 

Ten doesn’t turn his attention away from the window. “Is it one person or multiple?” 

Johnny hasn’t taken his gaze away from the door either. “One, I think. It’s weird.” 

The front of the house leans forwards a little, the walls bending under its command. 

“I can barely feel them, there’s something off about their energy,” Johnny explains. 

“Will they get through?” Ten asks. 

Johnny gives him a side eye, Ten returns it with a grin. Of course they won’t, not if Johnny doesn’t drop the barrier willingly. Looking at him now, the person outside hasn’t actually started attacking yet, otherwise Johnny wouldn’t still be this relaxed. Right now, they’re just trying to trespass. 

The ringing of the doorbell is loud and shrill in the silence that has fallen. The room is filled with anticipation. No one moves. Ten realizes that not only are his three friends waiting for him to make a decision, the house is too. 

Ten exchanges a look with Sicheng before they both set off towards the front door, the eyes of the other two on their backs. Doyoung moves himself over towards the couch, positioning himself so he has a clear shot of the entryway. Johnny stays in the kitchen, locking his body, ready to throw the shield back up at the first sign of an attack. 

Ten takes a small step in front of Sicheng, grabs the doorknob, and pulls the door open towards himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Doors personally called me and told me it was okay if I used their lyrics as a quote. 
> 
>   
[ twitter ](http://twitter.com/lertsektweets)|[ curiosity killed the cat ](https://curiouscat.me/)


	2. Chapter 2

Yuta is almost as tall as Johnny, but their personality stretches far beyond. They are charismatic in the same way that they are rude. They seat themselves at the kitchen table and the first words out of their mouth are, _my pronouns are they and them and I would really like a coffee._

Their hair is blood red and they have a tongue piercing that is visible every time they take a sip of their over-sweetened drink that can’t be called a coffee no more, not after the four spoons of sugar Yuta put into it. 

Ten knows who they are, of course he does. He’s heard whispers of the necromancer on the black market. Has heard of their supposed abilities, ones no one has ever seen live in action. It’s always a friend of a friend of someone’s brother of someone’s cousin who saw someone raise a graveyard with a flick of their wrist. But when you try to trace down said cousin to confirm, they are either dead or didn’t exist in the first place. 

The person sitting across from him now looks like they would never hurt a fly at the same time that they look like they have the highest body count to their name between all the people currently in this kitchen. 

Ten has to admit that he has always been curious, and there might have been a time where he would’ve asked Yuta to join his coven. But not now. Never now. 

Yuta isn’t in friendly territory here. But still, they are sitting at this kitchen table, sipping their disgusting diabetes-inducing drink. Ten might’ve admired them, called it brave. But bravery and stupidity are only separated by a fine line, and Yuta is one bad word away from crossing it. 

“Nice place you’ve got going here,” Yuta says. And they’re nervous, Ten can see it in the way they hold their body. The relaxation is so forced, Ten almost pities them. But he knows not to underestimate people, especially not ones that can supposedly use the dead as a weapon. 

“Thanks,” Doyoung bites out. 

Yuta’s smile breaks a little as they regard Doyoung, who’s leaning with his arms crossed against the cabinets, looking at Yuta like a hawk waiting to strike. 

Doyoung has made them confused, and Ten’s silence is just reinforcing it. The normal standard in a coven is to have a leader, they are the one who speaks, gives commands, leads. But Ten didn’t grab this ragtag group off the streets, didn’t take Doyoung from a place where he was told what to do all his life, only to put him in a setting that would continue to decide his life for him. These three men are his and he is theirs, they can speak for themselves. 

Ten knows Yuta won’t comment on it, won’t try to tell Ten he is running his business the wrong way, that his subordinates have more balls than he himself has. Ten knows Yuta wouldn’t dare comment on it, not when they are in a room with four people that can and will kill them if they make one wrong move. Ten also knows there is a person who would’ve said something. He knows that fact—as well as the person—all too well. It’s the person who put Yuta in this kitchen in the first place. 

“Skip the pleasantries,” Ten says, breaking the silence that has fallen. “What are you here for.” 

“Well, I would have emailed, but your site is still down so I thought I’d drop by to talk.” 

No way in hell is Ten going to tell them that the house is throwing a hissy fit and stopping him from running his business. They’re lucky the house decided that it was rude to not offer a guest coffee, it would’ve been pretty embarrassing to admit that they can’t boil water because an inanimate object has shut off the electricity. 

“We’re taking a little break.” 

Yuta tilts their head to the side just slightly, disbelief glinting in their eyes. “Preparing for the upcoming auction season I’m guessing.” 

“Right,” Ten answers. “And we still have a lot to do so if we could move past the small talk that would be great.” 

Yuta’s smile is back on their face, almost breaking it open. “Of course. I’m here to talk about the auction. And more specifically,” they turn their gleaming teeth onto Sicheng, “how to hack it.” 

Johnny’s disbelief is instant. “You want to hack the biggest annual magical auction? Jesus Christ you guys have really lost it.” 

Yuta’s brows knit into a frown, deciding if the insult is worth getting angry over. Ten knows they won’t, they still need something from Ten and his coven. 

Instead of anger, Yuta counters. “If you can’t that’s alright, we’ll ask someone else.” 

Ten can feels Sicheng trying to draw his attention from his left side, instead he keeps his focus on Yuta. 

“Why do you want to hack the auction? For the money?” 

Yuta arches their eyebrow. “Why? Would you want a cut?” 

Ten retracts, he won’t let himself get riled up. 

“If it’s not about the money, it’s about a person,” Doyoung says. “Who’s the unfortunate fellow?” 

Ten hasn’t been keeping track of this year’s graduates. He never does. Even though it’s incredibly easy, accessing the records doesn't even require any illegal work. They’re out in the open for all the public to see, will probably get broadcasted on live tv if they haven’t already. 

Ten has never had any interest in taking on an apprentice, not since he got out of his own apprenticeship. The store makes a sufficient amount of money and the four of them fill up the house well enough. 

People would argue that Ten already has three apprentices, stray ones he picked off the street instead of through the glorified system. 

He would call those people idiots, tell them that he learned as much from his friends as they did from him. 

“It’s the kid with an affinity for fire.” 

At Sicheng’s words, Yuta’s gaze snaps back over to him. 

“We would wholeheartedly welcome you when you get tired of this scum and would want to make a switch.” Yuta has the nerve to attach a wink to the end of their proposal. 

“Ten, want any coffee?” Sicheng asks.

“I’d love some.” 

Sicheng walks to the cabinets and pulls out the terrible sludged coffee that he likes to drink on coding sprints. He doesn’t make any indication of even having heard Yuta’s words. It’s so natural, the way he completely bypasses the offer, as if it isn’t worth his attention. In a different life, Ten thinks, Sicheng would have made a great actor. 

“Well, your lapdog does have a good analytical capability.” 

Ten is about to bite back but Sicheng interrupts the moment to pour water into the boiler, faucet on the highest setting. 

“Taeyong wants to collect the seven classes to make an all-rounded coven,” Sicheng continues after turning off the water. “You already fill up most roles, but fire is something you can’t produce, is it.” 

If it’s true what the legends say, Yuta automatically fills two roles out of the seven, add the teleportation and basic telekinesis that every witch has and that makes four. Arguably, they’re Taeyong’s most valuable asset. 

Yuta turns their nose up. “I’m not a graduate, I can produce some fucking heat.” 

Ten can see Sicheng’s small smile from the corner of his eye when he says, “But you can’t control it.” 

Taeyong has always been smart, he was so in their apprentice days and it seems that he hasn’t lost his touch. But apparently, being smart isn’t everything. Because Yuta is here, in what for them is the lion’s den. This means multiple things, but mostly it means that Taeyong is at rope’s end and that this is his last resort. 

Ten didn’t think Taeyong would set his ego aside and ever willingly ask for a favor, yet here they are. The gears in Ten’s head are turning. Is that what he wants, is making Ten crazy thinking about what this means exactly what Taeyong wants? Or is it more, is it an offer to reconcile, an attempt at something that doesn’t have hostility laying under it. The thoughts bring back memories of rumpled white bedsheets and trees shedding their leaves. Lilies everywhere and the cold water of ponds. Childish laughter and the swoop of an arrow right after. Ten pushes the still frames that are threatening to take over his mind quickly away. He already has a film reel playing in his dreams with scenes from his past, he doesn’t need to see faded photographs of it while he’s conscious as well. 

Taeyong making an attempt at forming a bond? Ten almost bursts out laughing. Taeyong would sooner be burnt at the stake than make friends with an enemy. 

Yuta takes a sip of their coffee—which by now must have turned cold, seeing as Doyoung had given them one of the failed mugs from his Christmas project—but Yuta’s face is made of stone when they put the cup down, no displeasure visible. 

“Why would we help you in the first place?” Johnny asks. 

Yuta doesn’t even turn around to address him when they answer, “We wouldn’t ask you for a favor if we didn’t have a form of payment.” 

Ten almost snorts. Of course Taeyong wouldn’t want to owe him a favor. Not that Ten would ever call it in, not even if it was the last thing on earth that could save his life. 

He gestures for Yuta to continue, thanking Sicheng when he puts one of the mugs he’s carrying in his hands down in front of Ten. 

The mug is part of the collection Doyoung crafted when he was in a good mood last Christmas. A good mood and on a quest to create the perfect cup that would keep the temperature of a drink as consistent as possible. While doing so, he filled up the whole cupboard. The temperature mug itself was made in a day, in the days after that, he created glassware that could fill and refill itself, clean itself, flash lights, form shapes and change color—Doyoung at one point setting a glass with yellow turned water in front of Johnny to test. When Johnny said he wasn’t going to drink fucking piss, Doyoung told him to stop being a fucking pussy. Johnny drank. 

The outsides of the mugs are decorated with animal prints and lyrics from the seventies. The one Ten is holding has a moving giraffe on it chomping on a leaf from an ever giving tree. He takes a sip and right away wants to spit it back out. The outside of the mug may be cute, but the coffee that Sicheng drinks is as bad as always. 

Between Yuta telling him about some artifacts that they are willing to trade for Sicheng’s service, Ten wipes his tongue discreetly on his sleeve, not wanting to be obvious and cast a spell. Sicheng snorts and hides it in his own coffee mug. The bastard. 

The artifacts that Yuta is talking about are from a quality that Ten could have expected. Some ancient runes used for divination from the north. Tracker bees that aren’t bred anymore and have Doyoung drooling purely at the mention of them. Johnny’s eyes light up when Yuta speaks of an old calling horn that the centaurs used in 1600. Ten can already envision Johnny mounting it on the wall above the television in the living room. 

“And finally a tarot set, the one with the talking artwork, Taeyong said you’d know which one,” Yuta concludes. 

That’s the first time Yuta has said the name of the man they work for, and it does not go unnoticed. Everyone in the room is starkly reminded who it is that is offering them these things. 

“It’s one of Taeyong’s favorite sets,” Yuta says as they grin. “But he’s willing to part with it. We’ll cleanse it beforehand of course.” 

Of course. Like they’ve already agreed. 

Ten remembers the set, remembers Taeyong’s thousand-watt smile when Ten gave it to him, knows that it’s one of Taeyong’s favorites. Even if Taeyong couldn’t handle it. Ten had sat in on some readings, sometimes he was even the one who the reading was for. He knows how loud the cards can get, how hard they are to block out. Taeyong never let him touch any of them. 

“You should feel honored, that’s the only set he doesn’t let anyone use.” 

At least that’s a thing he’s stayed consistent in, Ten thinks. A tarot set should be a gift. He doesn’t want a gift from Taeyong, especially not a return gift. And besides,

“You want us to hack the biggest magical event of the year and for what? A bunch of dusty knick-knacks and some bees.”

Yuta actually has the nerve to laugh. It’s short and loud and they shake their head afterward. The bangs that aren’t tied back into their ponytail drop back before their eyes. 

“You know what, we’ll throw in the centaurs’ location.” 

Ten freezes in his seat. Yuta laughs harder. It’s like a one man audience to a one man stand up comedy show. 

The house doesn’t actually shift, but Ten can feel it move, can feel it in his bones. Trying for comfort, a shield of protection from his own emotions. Or maybe he’s just imagining it, maybe he’s just looking for something that will stop him from making Yuta drop dead on the floor with a slice of his hand. 

He inhales, exhales. Does it again. Just the words don’t do it for him, they are not what are making him furious—furious at himself for the first thought that popped into his head—the implication of the words is what’s getting his blood boiling. And maybe it’s less anger and more excitement that he’s feeling. Or maybe it’s a mixture of both and his head chanting _finally._ He inhales again, deep and long, exhales on the fifth count. 

Doyoung speaks for him and Ten can feel nothing but gratitude. 

“If all you’re here to do is sell us lies, you can go.” There is venom in Doyoung’s voice. Moreso for the fact that Yuta has made Ten rattled and less for the fact that what they proposed in the first place is impossible. 

“Oh but it’s true,” Yuta says. “We have their exact location.” 

_Well played,_ is all Ten can think, _well played Yongie._ Of course he would come with the one thing that would tempt Ten the most. 

Sicheng has moved closer to him and Johnny has pushed himself off the counter, now standing up straight. Ten takes one more breath. 

“What would we want with their location?” Ten asks. “I don’t think they would welcome us with open arms, do you?” 

Yuta tilts their head to the side, regarding him. “Maybe Taeyong is giving it to you so you can go say hello to that old mentor of yours.” 

They don’t know. Taeyong didn’t tell them. Deep in his bones, Ten knows Taeyong hasn’t told a soul, just like Ten hasn’t spoken a word about their shared past either. Their apprenticeship. How Taeyong tried to ruin him, backed by their mentor. The night Ten woke up with his body paralyzed and Taeyong in his head. 

“Maybe me and Taeyong can go together, one big happy reunion.” 

Yuta’s curiosity gets the best of them, it slips right out of their mouth, and with it, their upper hand. “What happened between the two of you anyway?” 

“It’s a long story.” 

“I have time.” 

The legs of Ten’s chair scrape against the floor as he stands up. “But I don’t.” 

He hands his still full cup of coffee to Sicheng, who happily accepts. 

“I’m afraid we can’t help you.” Yuta starts to sputter, Ten continues on, paying them no mind. “We don’t tread on that side of the fence, the illegal side.” 

“Bullshit,” Yuta spits. 

“Might be, but the fact is that we’re not going to help you hack the auction. If you want to do it, you’ll have to do it yourselves.” 

Yuta stands up too, bends themselves over the table and looks around the room. “Cowards, all of you.” 

Yuta spits down next to their flamingo stamped cup. Johnny has them flung against the front door a second later. They’re up in the next beat, glowering back at Johnny. 

“It’s a good offer,” Yuta says, redirecting their attention to Ten. 

“Tell Taeyong that if he wants to buy something from us, he can have a look around our website,” Ten responds. “I promise we’ll have some good deals coming auction season.” 

Yuta pulls the door open, turns back with one foot over the threshold. “Think about it Ten, maybe we can—” 

The door slams Yuta over the threshold and locks into place. 

“That wasn't very necessary,” Doyoung tells Johnny.

Johnny smiles. “It wasn’t. But we all wanted to.”

* * *

That night, when the house has settled again and two of them have given in to sleep, Sicheng comes into Ten’s room and crawls into bed beside him. 

It’s a thing they used to do back in the day, when Ten had fought tooth and nail to be free and Sicheng didn’t yet know what that word meant. 

Sicheng would lie next to him in silence and that would be it. At first, Ten thought Sicheng did it because he needed the feeling of safety, because he needed to feel like he wasn’t alone. And that might have been partly true. But when Ten woke up the third night in a row clamped around Sicheng’s body, nails set in his flesh, a scream stuck in his throat, Ten understood that Sicheng slept next to him every night because Ten was the one who needed it. 

He put out a silent offer to be Ten’s anchor for the night. Sicheng didn’t mind when Ten drew blood in his sleep, trying to claw his way out of his own mind. He was right there to pull Ten back out of the nightmares every morning. 

Laying next to him now, in his boxers and an oversized shirt that definitely belongs to Johnny, Sicheng tells him that if Ten wants to talk he is here to listen. 

The things Yuta said and the way they shook Ten up didn’t go unnoticed by anyone in that kitchen, but none of them had confronted him after.

And this isn’t really a confrontation either. Sicheng is just putting out another offer: if you want to talk, you can. You don’t have to, but the option is there. 

There isn’t much Sicheng doesn’t know. He knows which coffee Ten likes and which one he hates. He knows his strengths and where his interest in dark magic started, knows why it continued, why Ten decided to wield it permanently. He knows where Ten’s weaknesses lie, how he can’t cast a healing spell to save his life but knows almost every curse written in the past decade, and how to use them. He knows Ten loves summer and how many times he wipes his ass after he has taken a shit—courtesy of living together in a squat house for a year while in hiding. 

When it comes down to it, Sicheng is the third person he has ever met of whom he can say knows him inside and out. The second person he let in willingly. 

Sicheng knows where the nightmares come from, where they originated. He has never asked Ten to explain them. Has never asked Ten what he sees when the walls of his own mind are closing in on him. Has never asked which voices serenade him with a song of death. 

When Sicheng reaches for him, his hands on Ten’s naked back are cold at first. But Ten does find in it exactly what Sicheng wants. Comfort. He holds Ten against his chest as Ten spills his guts. Not all of it, he’s still trying to press some of it back into his stomach—moments that can’t be put into words, feelings that can’t be described—but most of it slips past. 

Ten starts at the beginning, the auction where a centaur took in not one, but two witches, something that hadn’t happened in a hundred years. The centaurs stick to their own places, relocate every full moon. The story of one of them mentoring two humans was the headline in all the newspapers the next day. 

The set up for the middle is easy. Just like Taeyong’s smile was always easy, always there at a moment's notice, it didn’t help that it made him look even prettier. 

The reason Taeil took in Taeyong was obvious, they shared the same affinity for mind control. Ten’s reason for being there was less clear, at first. If you decide to become a mentor, why take two and not just one? 

It wasn’t until Taeil asked them to cast a spell one day, one neither of them had ever heard of, that Ten knew Taeil hadn’t taken him in on accident. 

Taeyong muttered the word to himself as he took his place in front of Ten, Taeil having asked him to go first. Taeyong hit him with the spell and it felt like the burn you get after you scrape your knee on the pavement. It didn’t hurt, per se, it was just unpleasant. 

Taeil asked Ten to cast the spell on Taeyong. And the next second Taeyong’s lips went from that stupid smile to screaming. Screaming that it burnt and to please put it out, can someone please put it out. 

Ten asked Taeil what was happening, what was going on, to please help. He could barely hear himself over Taeyong’s shouting. 

Taeil put a blue licked hand on Taeyong’s shoulder and the screams died down, the tears dried up. 

_What did you do,_ Ten had asked. 

Taeil’s response had been easy, _I didn’t do anything._

Ten hated that he knew exactly what he had done. What it meant. Ten hated the way the word had rolled so easily off his tongue, the slight burn it left. Ten hated how Taeil was looking at him with satisfaction. Ten hated how curious he was about what else he could do. 

“He would teach us separately. I had the mornings, Taeyong had the evenings,” Ten tells Sicheng. “Taeil’s teaching methods were…” he struggles for the right word and ends up settling on, “unorthodox.”

Sicheng doesn’t ask, hasn’t said a word up till now. 

“Taeil thought that the best way to learn something was to experience it first.” 

Ten can feel Sicheng’s body go stiff at the implication that sentence holds. 

“Did he hurt you?” is the first question Sicheng asks. 

“Temporarily, yes. Never without consent.” 

Ten has blocked out most of the memories of the physical pain from back then, letting it become a blur. What he does remember is the way Taeyong would always be ready when Ten stumbled back into his room, water, food, a blanket ready so Ten could just crash and go to sleep if he didn’t want the first two. 

He also remembers how he did the same for Taeyong in the early hours of the morning. Stand ready with a cold washcloth to put on his forehead to cool it down. Whispers of a good night’s sleep with no dreams after Taeyong had fallen down onto the bed, only able to get out the word _thanks_ before he was out cold. 

Soon, they decided to share a room for convenience. Only one bed to make, one room to keep clean, if you needed a convenient fuck the other was right there. 

It was funny how Taeyong used his magic, how he tried to be normal in the little things. He would spell his teeth clean every night but refuse to make the bed with magic, doing it all by hand, often asking Ten to help so it would go quicker. He would let the food be cooked by magic, but when he went out to practice shooting a bow with the centaurs, he would do it by hand. 

Over the months that they spent together, the convenience made place for want, made place for lust, and maybe—if Ten has to be honest with Sicheng and he always is—his heart also made place for love. 

Ten doesn’t tell Sicheng about the first time Taeil took him to the black market, how his blood had heated up and he knew that he was home. Ten doesn’t tell Sicheng about the time one of the centaurs let him ride his back. Doesn’t tell him that he didn’t only find love during that year but also friendship, and that a sense of protection permanently set into his bones. Ten doesn’t tell Sicheng that he and Taeyong were planning to find a house and move in together, after the mentoring year, maybe take a few of the younger centaurs with them. 

What Ten does tell Sicheng is that he was Taeil’s favorite, that Taeil would sometimes look at him with pride in his eyes, would pet his hair when Ten got a hard spell finally right. He does tell Sicheng that Taeil wanted him to stay. 

Ten skips over most of the middle so he can arrive at the end. 

“Taeil was kind,” Ten says. “He was kind in the way he showed me exactly what I could do, teaching methods be damned. He was kind in the way he gave me a new home. He was kind, up until he wasn’t.” 

The truth is, Taeil wasn’t blind. He knew both of them would up and leave the second the year was over, neither of them wanting to be stuck obeying their teacher for the rest of their lives. Ten carried a sense of leadership, and Taeyong even more. 

The truth is, Taeil wasn’t stupid. He wields the gift of mind control, and he wields it well. And maybe he let a silly little thought slip into Taeyong’s brain during one of their sessions. Maybe he let it settle there, in waiting. 

Up until the night that silly little thought took form in Taeyong’s mind and he rolled over onto his side and forced himself into Ten’s brain. 

You’re most weak when you’re asleep. Ten knows this, Taeyong knows this, and most importantly, Taeil knows this. 

Mind control takes a lot. Even for the people that are supposedly experts. Penetrating someone’s mind is the easy part, bending it is where the art comes in. Even experienced witches have trouble instructing the strongest of minds. 

It started out with a whisper slithering into his brain. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to stay, maybe staying was best. Every night Taeyong planted the thought into Ten’s head, and every night it settled, growing bigger. 

The truth is, Taeil wasn’t kind. After the fire incident, he never let them practice on one another anymore. Not that they would’ve even if he had instructed them. They had a deal. Taeyong would never go poking around in Ten’s head and Ten wouldn’t practice curses on him. It was a simple handshake agreement. 

“You found out,” Sicheng states. 

Ten nods. “Woke up one night while he was still inside my head.”

Ten shifts, clutches Sicheng a bit tighter. “I didn’t know which thoughts were my own anymore and which he had implemented. When he started explaining that it wasn’t him doing it in the first place but Taeil, I got up and packed my bags.” 

He had been sleeping next to a man for months, someone Ten thought he could trust. “I didn’t know if any of it had even been real. Had Taeil planted the thought into his head to fuck me? So I would stay?” 

Ten remembers Taeyong not having an answer, instead clutching his hair, wild eyes staring at Ten to tell him what was true and what wasn’t. 

That was the first night Taeyong had said he loved him. That was the one thing he was sure of. In return Ten had left his body paralyzed on the bed, asking one of the younger centaurs to ride him to the edge of the woods. 

“Do you regret it?” Sicheng asks. 

_No,_ Ten wants to say, has trained himself to say. But Sicheng and he have never been anything but truthful with one another so “Yes,” he says. “Every day.” 

Before both of them also let themselves be taken by sleep, Ten lets his own hands relax around Sicheng’s back and loosens himself from Sicheng’s grip slightly to be able to look at him. 

There is a thought that hasn’t gone away since Yuta left their house. 

“I know that look,” Sicheng tells him, a smile playing around his lips. “I’ve seen it often enough.” 

Ten pulls his body back further, places a hand on his chest. “I don’t have a look,” he responds, faking offense. 

“You had it when Johnny told you his boyfriend works for a delivery service. And that time Doyoung said our house was big enough for three house parties at the same time. Hell, you had that look last week when I said we should send Doyoung to auctions because he’d scare all the other bidders away.” 

“Okay, I might have a look.” 

“You do. It’s when you have a plan that screams idiocy but ends up working anyways.” Sicheng sighs. “I still can’t believe we have the biggest delivery service in our country willingly transporting illegal magical objects.” 

“That’s only on this side of the coast though, we should start thinking about expanding.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sicheng says, burying his head in the pillow. 

Ten shrugs. “We have the budget. And the space. And after this also the manpower.” 

Sicheng’s head shoots up. “You’re already planning this.” His eyebrows turn into a frown. Ten places his thumb between them to smooth out the wrinkles. “What do you mean after this we’ll have the manpower?” 

Ten pulls his hand back, a smile spreading onto his face. “Yuta said they wanted to hack the auction.” 

“Yes,” is Sicheng’s careful response. 

“Could we?” Ten asks. “Hypothetically.” 

Sicheng’s eyes rise up to the ceiling, calculating. He hums under his breath, trying to find which paths to take, which lines to connect. After a minute he focuses back on Ten. “Why?” 

Like Yuta, Ten knows exactly how to challenge him. “You’re saying we can’t?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“So, hypothetically, could we hack the biggest annual magical auction?” Ten asks again. 

“What do you take me for? A 73-year old grandma who doesn’t know how to crop their instagram pictures the right way?” 

“I’m telling Doyoung you called him a 73-year old grandma.”

Sicheng hits him. “No, you won’t. Now stop laughing and ask me again.” 

Ten stops his fit of giggles. “Dong Sicheng, the biggest tech wizard on this side of the coast, can you do the simple task of hacking a mere auction?” 

Sicheng rolls his eyes but smiles at Ten nonetheless, already beginning to feel the excitement coursing through his veins. 

“Of course I fucking can.” 

The second the words leave Sicheng’s lips, the electricity in the entire house turns back on. Both of them jump up out of shock as the room around them is suddenly engulfed in light. The laptop on Sicheng’s desk beeps with a message, and then again, and again. It doesn’t stop for two hours straight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments appreciated! 
> 
> [ twitter ](http://twitter.com/dreaminahero)|[ curiosity killed the cat ](https://curiouscat.me/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a big thank you to Elern! you keep being one of the reasons that this story keeps on going.  
(i guess as a gift you already know how the next chapter will start)

Johnny walks out of the kitchen carrying three beers and an apple cider for Doyoung. They all know the heavy stuff will come out later. There is a bottle of champagne waiting in Sicheng’s room if they win, and a bottle of good whiskey if they lose. But booze isn’t the only manner of preparation that went into this night. 

They’ve been at it for weeks. They meaning 90% Sicheng and 10% the rest. It’s mostly been Sicheng locked in his room, screaming down the stairs if he needed new parts or food. He’s been coding for hours on end every day since the wifi came back on. Doyoung has been providing him with a 24-hour energy drink almost daily. Resulting in Sicheng crashing for three days straight after he came down the stairs and said he was done. 

The final product is small but it radiates a certain power that you don’t have to touch to feel. It’s like they have an atomic weapon in their house. Ironic that the chip Sicheng made is not even bigger than a fingernail and yet it feels like it could blow the entire country away. 

It’s the key element, the chip. They’re sure it works, on a small scale. They’ve tested a version of it on the telecom marketing programs Johnny falls asleep to when he’s too lazy to move from the couch to his bed. Programs that aren’t secured by magic. 

After that, they tested the prototype on an actual auction, one with mild security. They won a magical robot cat that can’t do anything but scream for food. It tried to dig up Steve the mouse so Doyoung threw the cat in the attic. Ten feeds it every day even though it doesn’t need it. They haven’t named it in the hope that the cat will just go away by itself. But behind it’s back Johnny has been calling him Yang, saying that in a different life Doyoung would’ve been his evil counterpart. 

The security for this event is going to be high. There are thousands of digital walls to get through. But they have one advantage on their side, no one is going to see it coming. 

There’d sooner be a live attack—like an attempted kidnapping, seeing as those have happened before—than there would be a digital one. No one has ever been stupid enough to try and get in via the web. 

But Ten wouldn’t call it stupidity. Not if it’s Sicheng behind it. Not with the determination Sicheng had confirmed that it would work. 

Johnny places one of the beers next to Sicheng’s computer, which itself started glowing as soon as he inserted the chip into it. 

The radio is on the table, tuned to the right frequency which can only be accessed if you know the words to make the static intelligible. The tv is also set on the right channel but it’s muted. Sicheng said the screen will probably turn off when he activates the chip. The radio has a better chance of survival seeing as it isn’t directly plugged in. 

The program started an hour ago but they only just tuned in, still catching the end tail of the predictions for the upcoming event. The radio goes over into a commercial for magical wands while Sicheng gets himself set up into the digital waiting room. 

All of the auctions take place live, like the ones Johnny and Ten attend. But contrary to those backroom ones, online bidders can take part in this one. On the pie charts after the event, the online group is always shown as the category that splurges the most amount of money. Both on the graduates auctioned off and on the bullshit commercial products that are shown in between. 

“Who would buy a fucking wand in this day and age?” Doyoung questions in response to the awful end jingle of the wand commercial.

Johnny nods along. “For once I have to agree with you, that’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Maybe it’s a Halloween stunt?” Sicheng asks. 

Doyoung snorts. “To get people to dress up as Harry Potter? Please, people can come up with something better than that.” 

“I dunno Doyoung, you might look cute in a green school uniform with a cape and your hair bleached blonde.” 

“Ten I swear to god I’ll cut off your nose and have you go as Voldemort.” 

Ten is about to dig in further, but Sicheng waves his hand, shushing them. On the tv screen, the announcer has come back on, the radio supplying them with this year’s starting speech. 

“That’s a big crowd, bigger than last year,” Johnny says. 

“You watched last year?” Ten asks. 

“Yeah, there’s nothing really exciting about it though, just some high ranking people fighting for their newest recruit.” 

Doyoung leans back into the couch, taking a sip of his apple cider. “When’s our guy?” 

“35th I think,” Sicheng answers. 

Doyoung slumps back further into the couch, getting himself comfortable for the long wait. “And here I was thinking homeschooling was becoming more popular.” 

“35 out of what?” Ten asks Sicheng. 

Sicheng double checks something on his screen. “37.” 

“That’s still less than last year. I think it’s because some schools stopped opting in all together,” Johnny says.

Doyoung frowns. “Why? Don’t the schools get a decent cut for every student that gets bid on?” 

“Yeah, but most find it old fashioned,” Johnny says. “And the graduation rates went up per student.” 

“Did you get a cut?” Doyoung asks Ten. 

“Doyoung—” Sichengs says, shooting him a side-eye. 

Ten laughs. “It’s fine,” he reassures Sicheng. “Sadly, I didn’t get any money. None of them do, I think, only if it’s prearranged.” 

Johnny turns his attention from his half peeled off beer label onto Ten. “Why did you apply in the first place?” 

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it. 

In your final year of school, the students with the most potential get put on a list by the school itself. If you’re on it, you can opt-in for the auction. Back in the day, it was extremely popular to become an apprentice and the people who got put onto the list were looked up to. In recent years, however, only a select few do it. Witches that strongly believe in the role of mentorship, or ones that seek power and want to be part of a coven. Almost everyone that gets taken in by a coven ends up joining it after all. But in the end, it’s a gamble, for you don’t know where exactly you’ll end up or who will teach you. That thrill is what had excited Ten, the thrill of not knowing. It had been the final push to get him to sign up. But mostly the reason was, 

“I wanted to learn,” Ten tells Johnny. “I didn’t know exactly what, so I couldn’t settle on a follow-up study, and I didn’t want to start with a low paying job and work my way up the ranks. I just wanted to learn.” 

He doesn’t add that even in school Ten knew there was something brewing under his skin, a kind of magic that wanted to be used. He doesn’t add that he was scared of tackling it alone. 

A loud hammer slam makes all of them turn back to tv where the first apprentice has just been sold. 

“Well that’s one down,” Doyoung says. “Thirty-three more to go.” 

The auction is the biggest magical event of the year, despite it being old fashioned. The tickets for the stadium itself still get sold out and more than half the population tune in from their homes. The organization makes use of it too, playing ads after every fifth apprentice that gets sold. Ads which all together last seven minutes every time, only adding onto the nervous tension that has already taken over the room. Every sold apprentice is one step closer to them trying to breach a security force that no one has ever gotten through. Sure, attempts have been made, they’ve just never been mentioned on the news as the organization shuts down most leaks before they can be found out. 

“Has anyone ever not been sold?” Sicheng asks the room. 

Ten puts his beer down, mulls it over. “I think there was a girl the year before me that didn’t get bid on, not even pity bids. She had gotten involved with dark magic a week before the auction, caused a big scandal. No one wants to lose face by bidding on someone like that.” 

Johnny snorts. “After the auction she probably got offers directly from the black market.” 

Ten laughs with him, “Probably already had a deal set up with a coven before she stepped one foot into that stadium. The only reason she still went is that you can’t pull out once you opt-in.” 

Another commercial ends and the program displays the grades and extracurricular activities of the 31st apprentice while a well thought out pitch that has been whispered into the announcer’s ear beforehand is summed up. The kid gets sold for a well enough price to a coven where he and his skill for magical creatures can flourish. He looks happy but it’s obvious he didn’t end up where he had expected. The bidders with real money—older covens and bigger organizations—are holding back. 

The real gems are kept back towards the end, some are thrown in here and there but the last three are the ones that will garner a ridiculous price. 

Ten was only the 60th in his year of 80 while Taeyong had been in the final three. Another reason why he believed Taeil had made a mistake in the first place. 

Sicheng’s fingers are getting itchy as they move up the ranks. 32, 33. Soon the 34th new apprentice is getting whisked off the stage and a boy takes her place. 

There is nothing special about his scores, they’re maybe above average but not by a large margin. He is scrawny and boyish but his eyes have a particular look that Ten recognizes. He recognizes it because he wore the same one when he stood on that platform. It’s a look of fear, yes, but under it rests excitement, and something other. 

“We’re hacking this thing for a teenager?” Johnny says. 

“They’re all teenagers,” Sichengs responds, his fingers flying over the keyboard to enter into the auction room. 

Johnny’s right. At first sight, the kid isn’t special. He didn’t invent something of worth like some of the others and he doesn’t have a particular class that he excels in. Ten leans in closer, the kid is actually failing chlorokinesis, plant magic. Doyoung is going to have a field day. 

But the announcer makes it quite clear why the boy deserves to be on that stage, in the top three even. As soon as the words _fire affinity_ and _pyrokinesis practiser_ leave his lips the entire crowd sits up in interest. Ten can see even Johnny straightening his back from the corner of his eye. 

Elemental magic is almost as rare as mind control. Everyone learns the basics of the four elements in their first year of school, after which there are no specific classes for it. It’s hard to produce, even harder to control, and almost impossible to master. 

Ten’s affinity lies with water but getting water to boil is as far as he can go. 

The announcer is listing off the rest of the boy’s special points but the tone has already been set. Sicheng shifts in his seat, ready whenever. Ten takes a sip of his beer and waits for the starting signal. 

They’ve been selling out old stock for the past couple of weeks to rake in more cash for this moment. They need to be at least on par with the first couple of bids. And the auction itself has to go on long enough for it to seem at least the tiniest bit realistic. 

Sicheng’s chip can only make sure that no one can bid after them, it will basically flatline every other transmission. That means that they still need the money to overthrow the bid before them. 

While Sicheng had been in his room buzzed up on power drinks, the rest of them spent their time gathering money. They have an emergency fund, but Ten would rather not use it for something like this. Especially since they don’t know what’s going to happen after. Taeyong might not be so happy that they stole his idea. 

Doyoung finished the musical stairs and sold them way overpriced to housewives who didn’t care. Johnny doubled up on the regular auctions by day and Ten on the backroom ones by night. 

They let Jaehyun and his coworker Lucas race around their side of the coast on overtime—the boxes filled with illegal magical artifacts stored in the back of their delivery truck disguised to look like normal home delivery groceries—with the promise of a raise for both of them after everything had been taken care of. 

It wasn’t that they didn’t have any money in the first place—their store produced a whole lot more than they bargained for when they set it up—it was just that the people they were going to be bidding with were in a league of their own. 

Old covens with old money stored in vaults, big companies with funds that they could only dream of. The prices for the final three were always ridiculous and this time they would have to match it, and otherwise cut it off before they couldn’t. 

The opening bid has Doyoung walking to the fridge for another apple cider. 

Soon it’s taken over by the online bidders in the auction room, throwing around money blindly. When there are just two parties left layering cash on top of cash to climb to the top, Ten tells Sicheng to do it. 

They sit in silence while Sicheng activates the chip and the announcer keeps calling out the bids through the radio. It takes a second before Sicheng’s computer lights up even brighter. Ten doesn’t know if Sicheng rushes to withdraw his fingers from the keyboard because he is shocked by the amount of noise his laptop makes, or because it’s simply boiling hot. 

Nothing happens for a minute and the announcer proudly presents that they have entered the fifty thousands. Johnny winces. None of them came from money and it’s great to see how far they’ve come from the days where they had zero customers and were the laughing stock in their town. That doesn’t take away that spending much at once still leaves a bitter aftertaste. 

“It’s not doing anything,” Doyoung says. His fingers peeling at the label on his drink.

Sicheng doesn’t take his gaze away from his screen, the ventilators in the laptop going haywire. “Patience,” he says.

Ten doesn’t say anything, he trusts Sicheng. If he says it’s going to work it will work. 

Another minute passes, the amount is drawing closer and closer to seventy thousand. 

“Sicheng—” Johnny starts. “No pressure but we’re slowly running out of time here.” 

“It will work,” Sicheng says. “It has to.” 

There is a set determination in his eyes that Ten has never seen before, never like this. 

Johnny shoots Ten a look, Ten just shakes his head and repeats Sicheng’s words. “Patience. It will work.” 

Doyoung chokes on his apple cider as they reach the one hundred thousand mark. 

“Sicheng,” is all Johnny says. 

Sicheng turns his determined set of eyes away from his screen and onto Johnny. “Patience.” 

“Jesus Christ.” At Doyoung’s exclamation, all eyes fly to the television screen. “They just went from one-ten to one-twenty.” Even the announcer is having trouble keeping up. 

Sicheng was right about the tv giving out, because it suddenly shuts off with a click as the radio keeps on playing. 

“That’s it baby,” Sicheng says. He pats his laptop with pride and hisses while retreating his hand from the heat that’s coming off of it. “There we go.” 

The announcer’s voice screams out that the grand number of one hundred and twenty-five thousand has been hit. 

“I’m going to lose it,” Johnny says. 

Doyoung, who has resigned himself to staring at the ceiling in the hope of some kind of spiritual intervention, wholeheartedly agrees. 

The radio starts to sputter. The announcer’s voice being cut to pieces until it isn’t intelligible anymore. Still, the urgency in the way he speaks is noticeable. Something is wrong, something isn’t going according to plan. 

Ten muses that it’s just a matter of which plan you’re talking about. 

Sicheng’s computer starts putting in even more work, the ventilators turning over hours. It rises an inch into the air. The radio on the table explodes. 

Johnny reacts instantly and throws up a shield just in time, letting the pieces of metal fall onto the carpet before they get a chance to cut skin. 

“Quick thinking,” Doyoung says. 

“Thanks,” Johnny responds, looking at his hands like they moved on their own. 

Ten let’s the adrenaline flow out of his system and let’s the thought that was halfway through being put into action shatter. His grip on Sicheng’s arm loosens before he let’s go, no need to teleport anymore. 

Sicheng, for his part, hasn’t taken his eyes off of the digital auction room. The digital auction room which, when Ten leans over Sicheng’s frame to look, has turned into a blank screen. The white of the computer screen almost feels like it’s mocking them. 

Johnny speaks his question into the silence. “Did it work?” 

Doyoung sweeps up the fallen shards of the radio with a swoop of his hand and dispositions them onto the saloon table. He pads over to stand behind the couch Sicheng and Ten are sitting on, joining them in staring at the white screen. 

Sicheng is hesitant. “I don’t know.” 

“Can we check the bank account?” Ten proposes. Johnny is already getting out his phone, trying to pull up a statement, a transaction, anything that can tell them if they succeeded. The phone won’t even turn on. Johnny uses the strategy he always tries with the television when it isn’t getting a good signal. He hits the side of his phone with his hand. 

The rumbling starts from outside. At first it is quieter than the silence, but not for long. 

Doyoung notices it at the same time as Ten and both turn around to look at the backyard. 

“Sicheng,” Doyoung says. “What did you do exactly.” 

Sicheng finally loses his cool. He shoots up, eyes that were boring holes into his laptop—Ten is surprised it hasn’t caught fire yet, but then again Sicheng’s affinity also lies with water—now focusing on Doyoung. 

“I don’t know if it even went through!” 

Ten can tell Sicheng is trying to hold back a scream. 

Johnny, never the delicate one, slams his phone onto the table and makes the radio shards on it rattle. “It won’t fucking turn on.” 

Ten would laugh at seeing such a tall guy be angry at something that isn’t even bigger than his hand, but the rumbling has turned into shakes. Soon the radio shards on the table are moving again, and this time Johnny isn’t the cause. 

Sicheng is looking around at the floor like he can find the source of the shaking, and Ten belatedly realizes that it’s because Sicheng is trying to find a way to comfort the house. 

“It’s okay,” Sicheng ends up saying. “I’m not mad.” 

Doyoung snorts. “I am.” 

Sicheng turns on him, “You have no right of speaking you fucking ghoul.” 

“Okay so I dug up a grave one ti—” 

The backdoor flies open and Ten has both of them shoved behind him in a second, twenty different curses ready on his lips, but he halts when he sees who’s trying to enter their home. Yang sets one paw down onto the kitchen floor, his orange robot tail high in the air. As soon as the cat has all four legs into the kitchen the house explodes. 

Ten thinks between the glass flying around them, from the windows, the chandelier, the mugs Doyoung made for Christmas. Ten thinks between the ceiling literally coming down and Doyoung having one of the trees from outside help hold it up with him like fucking Atlas. Ten thinks between the ringing in his ears and purple dust swirling around the room, that what Yang was holding in his mouth seemed to look oddly like the mouse they keep buried in the backyard. 

He makes a promise to himself in that moment. If they get out of this alive, the cat is going into the basement and they’re going to throw away the key. 

Teleportation is not an option, Doyoung is the sole reason the house is still half-standing and even if Ten tried, he can’t reach him because of the big wooden arms that are wrapped around his body leading up to the ceiling that seems to keep on falling. 

Something that looks oddly like a piece of his bed frame drops down next to his left foot. Pages of Doyoung’s books are fluttering around in figures. Airplanes, frogs, a swan that switches into a crane before settling onto a kestrel only to go back to a swan. 

Between the mist Ten can spot Johnny, cuts on his arms and the blood running free, being picked up and becoming one with the whirlwind of things in the air. Johnny’s throwing out safety spell after safety spell, trying to keep things locked where they were before. Putting up shields with one hand and fishnets for things to drop into with the other. 

The ringing in his ears is still there but dissipating. He can register a vague crash coming from his left, to his right he finds Sicheng who looks to be dumpster diving between all the rubble. 

He forges himself a path, knocking Johnny’s shaving cream into the wall when it comes soaring towards his head.  
“What are you searching for,” Ten asks as he finally reaches Sicheng. 

Sicheng throws back a word over his shoulder. It doesn’t register in Ten’s brain. 

“What!” He yells more than asks. 

Sicheng touches a hand to his throat, forming another word with his lips before he yells out, “Chip!” 

Sicheng yells the word again, but Ten is already looking for a picture in his head. He can almost feel the nuclear power jumping from the image once he pulls it to the front of his mind. It’s a technique he learned from his dear old mentor. Although locating things wasn’t the actual lesson, it’s a handy skill nonetheless.

“We need the chip!” 

A brick is placed next to another, forming a road inside his mind. A yellow line comes into view in the world, tugging at his hand. 

He stumbles a step forward at an especially hard pull. His magic knows it’s urgent, there is no time to waste. 

Ten finds the end of the yellow thread beneath one of the couch cushions that has flown to the other end of the room. He pulls out Sicheng’s laptop from beneath it, still whole. The chip is a burning accessory to it, glowing from the slot it’s plugged into. When Ten opens the laptop there’s still only a white screen staring back at him. 

“Hold it!” Sicheng yells, stumbling over his own feet as he runs in his haste towards Ten. Johnny looks over towards them, Sicheng’s boombox voice drawing even the attention of Doyoung inside his tree fort. 

“Hold it tight I’m gonna pull it out,” Sichengs says. Ten swipes a hand over Sicheng’s throat, now that his ear work again he doesn’t need them broken once more. He squares his legs, expecting to have to pull back in his own direction for the chip to be able to come out. 

Instead, it’s as easy as anything. Johnny is yelling at them to wait, dropping his fishing nets to the ground to rush towards them. But before he can do anything the chip is already out of the laptop and in Sicheng’s hands. 

Three streets down in another magical household, the television turns back on. The announcer stumbling over his words at the unexpected return before making a crack about how apparently magical airwaves are now being dumbed down to human airwaves. The family in the house laughs, letting their mouths one by one drop open when they hear that the last apprentice was sold for the grand total of 127. 

“And one!” the announcer adds. “One hundred twenty-seven thousand and one!” 

On seventh street the tree that was helping Doyoung hold up the ceiling reaches out a branch, snatching the chip from Sicheng’s hands and throwing it with all its power out of the window. 

The branch comes back and takes Sicheng’s laptop from him, curling around it. It applies more pressure and splits the screen from the keyboard, letting the two broken parts fall to the floor. The branch pulls back again and comes down hard on the screen, shattering it into a million pieces. Just for good measure. 

Everything in the house drops to a standstill. One second, everything lies flat. The next everything is up and getting restored to how it once was. Ten can see his headboard float up and away zooming to what he presumes is his broken up bedroom. Johnny’s shaving cream gets pulled out of the wall, the crack that it left being mended instantly. 

The books return to their shelves in the exact alphabetical order Doyoung likes to keep them in. The tree in the middle of the living room slowly retracts and the roots untie themselves from the floor, creeping back to the yard. 

The purple mist clears, dissipating into thin air and leaving no trace behind. As the house rebuilds, currently taking its time to rearrange Doyoung’s Christmas mugs, all that is left behind is three men huddled together still staring at where the tree threw the chip out the window. The fourth man lays spread out on the living room floor, panting, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. The house drops a clean t-shirt next to him. 

On the other side of the coast, people look up at the big explosion that christens their sky. It will get the full news coverage in the human world the next day. Reddit threads will spring up with their own ideas, saying that the sun has exploded and that we are now looking at nothing more than energy that takes lightyears to travel. 

The magical world won’t give it the time of day, will instead keep up broadcasts for weeks to come about the hack that took place at the auction. Never been done before, will keep echoing on every news channel and frequency. The ministry will try to shut it down, but you can’t squash down a thought that is already out, especially not if there is evidence to back it up. 

A letter is pushed through the newly reshaped letterbox of the house on seventh street. When Ten opens it, confetti springs up into the air. _Congratulations!_ it reads and goes on to explain that he—as the bank account was in his name—is now tied to a mentorship. It feels oddly like one of them has given birth and they are left to deal with the aftermath. _We are sure the apprentice will be in good hands!_

Yes, Ten thinks. Looking back to the living room where Doyoung still hasn’t moved an inch, the only indication that he is still alive the slow rise and fall of his chest. Sicheng is using the clean shirt to dab away at the sweat with a sour expression on his face. Johnny is getting the booze out of Sicheng’s bedroom cause hell, it’s not just to celebrate anymore now, it’s an actual need. 

Good hands indeed, he agrees when he sees Sicheng push away Yang—still holding the dead mouse in its mouth—only for the house to respond by opening the faucet in the kitchen. 

In the center of the earth, in a place no person, creature, or being has ever gone, there is a crack in the ground. It’s been there for a while, biding its time, letting life go by while it lies in wait. It has started splitting further ever since there was a sudden influx of magic that was produced by the same thing people are now calling the explosion of the sun. 

Something sets its nails into the ridges of the gap, into the edges of the earth, and lifts itself up to join its friends that got early access to this human world. 

In the house on seventh street, a champagne bottle is popped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always kudos and comments are appreciated! 
> 
> for the usual:[ twitter](http://twitter.com/dreaminahero)  
for questions or (if you dare) guesses:[ curiosity killed the cat ](https://curiouscat.me/lertsek)


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